


Interlude

by TristansGirl



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-04
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TristansGirl/pseuds/TristansGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, Tommy. This deals with the after effects of a very traumatic event. Difficult subject matter ahead</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The non-con in this story is not graphic. It is not even described. It's what has happened in the past. This entire story deals with the aftermath

Tommy doesn't let anyone touch him; barely lets anyone near him.

Except for his mother.

And Adam.

Adam doesn't understand, doesn't understand why Tommy shies away from others, from his own family, yet reaches for him.

It saddens him but at the same time he's grateful. Grateful because it is him.

So he spends every spare moment that he can with Tommy, trying to ignore how sometimes he feels like an interloper in that hospital room, like maybe he shouldn't be there, like he doesn't belong.

He perches on Tommy's hospital bed and talks to him, holds his hand. Sometimes he wraps his arms around him, feels the way Tommy's hands clutch at his back, scrabbling as if for purchase. He can read the desperation in those hands, can feel the pain in that touch.

"Sh . . . it's ok. No one's ever going to hurt you again. I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe now." Adam whispers against the shell of Tommy' ear, into his hair. He means every word.

In a few more days, Tommy will be released. His parents want to bring him home, but Adam has other plans.

He means the words that he says. He wants Tommy with him; safe, where he can watch over him. Protect him. Care for him.

Tommy belongs with him; belongs to him. How else to explain it?

Tommy won't allow anyone to touch him.

Except for Adam.


	2. Chapter 2

Adam remembers everything that got them to this point. He can't claim an eidetic memory, but it is flawless for this, for Tommy.

He remembers that first phone call, the one telling him that Tommy never made it home from practice.

He remembers the follow up. The one that told him that Tommy's car had been found not far from a gas station, but that there was no sign of Tommy.

He remembers all the subsequent calls, the meetings, the conversations. Each one more and more grim.

The footage from the security camera showing nothing.

The clerk at the gas station remembering Tommy walking in, buying something, walking out.

The police investigation. The searches, the fake sightings.

Days turning into weeks. Weeks stretching on into a month, then longer yet.

The frustration. The fear. The tears.

All of it, a waking nightmare. The kind that never ends. The kind that will drive you insane and leave you a shell.

And then that last phone call. The one that brought the news he'd been waiting to hear for nearly seven weeks. The news that he'd been starting to fear would never come.

The news that Tommy had been found.

He remembers every detail, each one kept like a souvenir. Constant. Ever-present. Even when he wishes that he could forget.

"Tommy," he says in the here and now, keeping his voice soft. He always does. Tommy needs gentle, Tommy needs soft. "I want you to come stay with me. When they release you . . . I'd like it if you'd come stay with me."

Tommy looks up at him, eyes weary. He's tired again, he's always so tired. "My mom and dad want me to go home."

"I know. And it's ok if you do. For a while. But I think it's important that you come with me."

Tommy turns his head away, his fingers playing with the sheets that cover his body. "I don't think I'd make a very good roommate right now."

Adam runs his hand over Tommy's hair. He can't help but to touch. As long as Tommy will let him he will. And maybe, he admits, it's more to comfort himself than to comfort Tommy. A way to reassure himself that Tommy is real and here and alive.

He fights down the flare of anger that threatens to rise. Tommy's hair, once so pretty, unusual and perfectly suited to him, is mostly gone, hacked away.

Or at least that's how Adam imagines that it happened, he doesn't know for sure. Tommy won't say, nobody will, and his imagination supplies the details in light of real information.

"I just want to keep you safe, Tommy. I just . . . I just want you close to me." He regrets the words almost instantly. This is not about what he, Adam, wants. This is about Tommy wants. What Tommy needs.

Then Tommy turns back and one of his hands catches Adam's, clutching it tight. "You won't leave me? If I stay with you, you promise you won't leave me?"

Adam presses a kiss to their joined hands and his heart beats a little faster because that sounds like a yes. That sounded like the start of a yes.

"I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

_Adam races to the hospital as soon as he gets the call from Tommy's mother._

 _The news feels both momentous and surreal. Tommy is awake and out of ICU._

 _And asking for him._

 _Adam nearly drops the phone when he hears. He makes it to the hospital in record time, walking through the hallways at a pace that is more like a run._

 _Tommy's parents greet him outside the door._

 _"I got here as soon as I could," he tells them. He's breathless; some of it from hurrying, some of it from nerves. "Is he . . . how is he?"_

 _Tommy's mother wipes at tears. "Better. He's getting stronger. The doctor's say he's getting stronger."_

 _"And it's ok that I see him?"_

 _"You can only stay for a few minutes. He just gets so tired. But yes, of course. He woke up today asking for you."_

 _Adam smiles, trembling and uncertain. "Ok." He takes a deep breath, tries to prepare for the other side of the door. "Thank you," he says, already stepping forward. "Thank you for calling me."_

 _"Adam, wait." Tommy's father this time. There are tears in his eyes too. Harder to see but there. "You have to be careful. When you see him."_

 _Adam stills._

 _Waits._

 _"He doesn't let anyone touch him. Except for his mother, he panics when anyone tries. Not even the doctor. Not even me or his sister."_

 _Tommy's mother covers her face with her hands, breaks down, falls apart. Tommy's father holds her. His breakdown isn't far behind._

 _"I'll be careful. I won't touch him, I promise."_

 _He steps inside the room, smiles at Tommy's sister, watches as she excuses herself to give them privacy. Then he turns to Tommy. He falters, struck by how fragile Tommy looks among the sterile machines; so pale and gaunt, as if he's barely being held together._

 _He recovers, heading for the chair by the bed when Tommy reaches out a hand to him._

 _"Adam?"_

 _It's barely audible, Tommy's voice. More exhalation than sound._

 _"Hey," Adam says. He grasps Tommy's hand, relishing the contact, ready to pull away. But Tommy only hangs on tighter._

 _"Adam."_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I asked my mom," Tommy says. "She said it was ok."

"What do you mean, honey? Asked her what?" Adam asks. It's only one more day until Tommy's released and Adam's sitting by his bedside, anxious to spend as much time with him as he's allowed to.

"About staying with you. She said it was ok if it was what I wanted. I can stay with them for a few days and then go to your place."

"Tommy, are you sure?" Adam doesn't want to ask the question. He wants to take this gift and run with it, but there's something about the way that Tommy's speaking, as if he's hesitant about his words. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I don't want to force you into anything . . ."

Tommy looks at him then, his eyes wide and earnest. "No. No, Adam, I want to. I . . . you're the . . . you're the only person that makes me feel safe."

Then Tommy drops his gaze and Adam's heart breaks just that little bit more. "Unless you don't want me. If you changed your mind, it's ok."

Adam caresses Tommy's cheek, knuckles sliding along the soft skin. "No, Tommy, no. I want you there, believe me. More than anything."

Tommy nods. "Ok. Yeah?"

And then Adam slides over onto the bed, wrapping an arm around Tommy's too-thin shoulders. "I make you feel safe?"

"As long as you're with me, I feel like he can't hurt me."

Adam presses Tommy closer, mindful of the injuries, the stab wounds still sore after all this time. "You're right. I'd kill him before I let him hurt you again. I'll kill anyone that ever tries."


	4. Chapter 4

_Adam drapes himself over Danielle, his head resting on her thigh. He closes his eyes, feeling the light touch of her nails through his hair._

 _"What if he doesn't come out of it?" he asks. "What if he doesn't get better?"_

 _"He will. It's only been three days since they found him. You have to give him time."_

 _Her voice is strong and sure and Adam wants to believe. He wants to believe her more than anything. But he's just so scared._

 _"I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't . . . if he's not ok. Just the thought of losing him . . . "_

 _Danielle's hand stills as her voice grows stern. "He's stronger than you think he is, Adam. You have to believe in him. You have to believe that he's going to be ok."_

 _Adam sits up and faces her. "But why would he want to be? I don't even know the half of it, but I can imagine. Seven weeks with that bastard. Seven weeks, Dani. Why would he want to come back? Why would he even want to open his eyes and face that?"_

 _"Because Tommy's a fighter. That's why he's alive." Danielle' voice is impassioned, thick and hoarse with emotion. "If he didn't give up in those woods, then he's not just going to give up now."_

 _Adam sighs, settling back down. He feels old and weary, as if he's lived a hundred lifetimes. "I just want him to open his eyes. If I can look into his eyes again . . . "_

 _"He will, you'll see. And when he does, he's going to need you to be strong for him. No more of this freaking out shit. Not around him."_

 _Danielle's nails are back in Adam's hair, the loving touch a reprieve from the horror of the last couple of months._

 _"I can do that. If he comes back to me, I'll be a fucking rock."_

 _They fall into silence, letting it stretch out._

 _After a few minutes, Danielle's voice cuts through it._

 _"How long have you been in love with him, Adam?"_

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Adam lies across Danielle, his head resting against her thigh. She rubs his shoulder as he sighs and leans into the touch.

"So, you ready for this?" she asks.

"More than. If it were up to me, Tommy would already be living with me. But it's only two more days, so . . ."

"I just hope you know what you're doing here, Adam. Tommy's been through so much."

Adam shoots up. "Why do you say that? What do you think I'm going to do?"

"Nothing. Nothing bad. It's just that . . . he's going to need a lot of care. And a lot of time and patience. If you're going to do this, Adam, you've got to do this all the way."

"I will, Dani. You of all people should know how much he means to me. I'm not going to fuck this up. I'm going to take care of him."

Danielle smiles, loving and kind. "I know you will, honey. I know you will. Just be careful, that's all I'm saying."

"He won't let anyone else touch him, Dani. It's got to be me. It's meant to be me. You see that, right?"

"What about his mom?"

"His mom can't protect him against that guy. Not even his dad can. Not like I can."

Danielle pulls away, studying Adam's face as she frowns. "You don't really think he'd go after Tommy again, do you? The police said that's probably the last thing he'd do."

Adam shrugs, settling back down. "I'm not going to let anything hurt him again. That guy or anyone else. He won't get so much as a fucking papercut if I can help it."

"He's not going to be able to reciprocate this, Adam. Not for a while. You know that."

"Doesn't matter," Adam whispers. "I'll wait till he's ready."

"And if he's never ready?"

"God, you're such a downer," Adam laughs. He sobers after a moment, goes still. "Then I'll keep loving him anyway."


	5. Chapter 5

"Take care of him, Adam. You promise me?"

"I do. I promise. You know I will."

It's an easy promise to make to Tommy's mother. It's all Adam can think about. He wants to take care of Tommy. To help him. To fix what was broken.

"He's still my baby. He's my baby boy."

She's crying now, softly and steadily. Adam knows this is hard for her. He knows that Tommy's parents don't really understand why this is happening; why Tommy's choosing Adam over them. Adam feels badly about it, hates that it hurts them. But not enough to let Tommy go.

"I know. I know he is. I promise I'll take good care of him."

"I'll have to visit," she says, trying for a smile, to pull herself together. "I may be at your house a lot."

Adam pulls her in for a hug. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ride, the short walk inside the house is a trial for Tommy. It exhausts him, eating up the last of his fragile strength and he's ready to collapse by the time Adam shows him to the guest bedroom.

Tommy eases onto the edge of the bed gingerly. He looks a little lost, very small as he turns his head to take in the room.

Adam kneels down in front of him, placing a hand along his cheek to anchor him. "You look tired, honey. Do you want to take a nap?"

"Yeah, I think so. Do you mind?"

"Of course not. We can unpack your things later. Sleep as late as you want and then we can think about dinner."

Tommy brings his hand up, wrapping it around Adam's wrist. "You'll be outside right? You'll be close?"

"Yeah. But I can stay in here if you want me to."

"No." Tommy shakes his head, embarrassed. "No. I can handle it. I can handle sleeping by myself."

"Are you sure?" Adam asks. "I can stay. I don't mind."

But then Tommy lifts his chin; a proud move, a defiant one. "No. I'm ok. I can do this."

Adam smiles, heart warmed by the this man's strength. "Ok. I'll be right outside."

 

Adam sits in the living room, lost in thoughts that are dark and heavy. He wonders if he's strong enough to see this through with Tommy, terrified that he might not be. He thinks about what Tommy's already been through and all that he still has to face. It is almost too much, too much for the mind to process.

It is the noise that finally pulls him from these thoughts, yanking him back to the here-and-now. Adam jumps up, running toward it, toward Tommy. He bursts into the room, terrified to see what had caused that noise. Terrified that he's failed Tommy already.

He sees that Tommy is on the floor, kneeling, his arms wrapped around his body. Scattered all around him are the shards of the mirror that hangs on the wall.

Adam drops down next to Tommy, grabbing his hands, inspecting them for damage. "Are you hurt? Are you hurt?"

Tommy shakes his head and pulls his hands away, back to his own body. They are neither bloody nor damaged. Whatever Tommy used to break the mirror, it was not his hands.

Tommy's sobs are frantic, his breathing wild and erratic as he rocks back and forth. "I'm sorry."

"Tommy? What happened? Tell me what happened."

"I woke up. I was gonna go outside and then the mirror . . . I stopped at the mirror." Tommy looks up, his eyes wide and haunted. "I'm sorry, Adam."

"I don't care about the mirror, Tommy. Just tell me what happened. Did something upset you?"

"My hair." Tommy hiccups out a laugh, except that it's not really a laugh at all. It's desperate and wild and tinged with hints of insanity. "My stupid, fucking hair."

Adam glances up at it. Tommy's hair. Hacked away, some pieces short, some long, No rhyme or reason to it. Destroyed.

"When he saw me, he thought I was younger," Tommy's saying, words slurred and stumbling. "That's why he took me. He said he saw my clothes and my hair and he thought I was just a kid."

Adam stiffens, hairs prickling at the back of his neck. He's about to hear details, from Tommy himself, about what happened to him. And all this time, he'd thought that he'd wanted to know, if only to better understand what Tommy's going through, but now . . . now he's not so sure he's ready.

"When he looked through my wallet, and saw how old I was, he got so pissed. He got so pissed, Adam. Like I'd lied to him. He took a knife and cut at it, ripped it out." Tommy shakes his head, wiping at his eyes. "It's not even the worst thing that he . . . not even close, but I was so scared. I was so fucking scared."

Adam places his hands on Tommy's arms, rubbing them lightly. Tommy's words are creating a mental picture for him, one he wishes he could erase. One he knows that he never will.

Tommy drops his voice into a whisper, though it's no less anguished. "And then I saw it, in the mirror. I saw it, and it's so ugly. I'm so ugly. And I know it's stupid, but I couldn't look at it anymore. I couldn't stand looking at . . . at me. So I broke your mirror. And I'm so sorry."

At this, Adam brings Tommy forward, wrapping his arms around him, one hand against his back, the other at his ruined hair.

"It's ok. Sh . . . it's ok. It's ok now."

It's not about the mirror, Adam knows. On some level, he knows it's not even about the hair. It's about this man taking something from Tommy, something that he had no right to take.

It's also about giving Tommy something back. No matter how small.

"Tomorrow," Adam says, "maybe we can go to my hair stylist. She'll fix it. She can do whatever you want to do." He hopes he sounds strong and encouraging. Positive. It's a facade of course. Right now he feels as broken as he imagines that Tommy must and it's everything he can do not to break down into tears himself.

Tommy leans heavily against Adam, as if all his strength has vanished. He's beginning to quiet down, breaths evening out, tears disappearing. "I can't. I don't think I can go anywhere."

"I'll bring her here." Adam hesitates, then adds. "If you want. Only if you want."

"Maybe not tomorrow. But soon. I think I'd like to do it soon."


	6. Chapter 6

Adam lies in bed, body rigid, and stares up at the ceiling.

He said goodnight to Tommy over half an hour ago, leaving him curled up in the guest room's bed.

And now he waits. Though what for he's not exactly sure.

A part of him is hoping that Tommy is strong enough to get through the night without him.

A part of him is wishing that Tommy will come to him. His arms ache to hold Tommy, to keep him close.

But he feels this is not his decision to make, nor even help to make.

So Adam lies still and waits.

Ten minutes later, the door opens. Adam sits up, watches as Tommy's slender silhouette inches toward him.

"You ok?"

"I couldn't . . . I couldn't sleep."

"Do you want to sleep here?"

"I don't want to bother you. I just . . . I couldn't sleep and I thought . . ."

"Stay here," Adam says, cutting across Tommy's wavering voice with his own. "Please stay. If you want, I mean. If you want - I would love it if you stayed."

And Tommy doesn't even hesitate. He places his hand in Adam's and Adam gently pulls him in, bringing them together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, Tommy's family comes for a visit. His mother and sister are with Tommy in the backyard, enjoying the warm, spring day.

Adam sits with Tommy's father in the family room, both of them gazing out at the people they love.

This feels strangely formal, almost like an interview, and Adam tries to still his jangling nerves.

"Adam, I'd like to be direct. Can I be direct?"

"Please."

"I want to know, if you have feelings for my son."

Adam straightens, clears his throat, brings his hands together. This is not what he was expecting. He finally manages to stammer out an answer. "I care for him. You know that."

But Tommy's father waves the answer away. "I know you do. We all do. That's not what I'm asking. I'm asking if you have feelings for my son."

"Why would you think-"

"Tommy and his sister are really close. Apparently, Tommy mentioned to her that he thought you might. Back before all this happened, he and Lisa had talked."

Adam's posture changes with the weight of what feels like defeat. And he thought he'd been so discreet. And now what? Now Tommy would be pulled away from him? Because the predatory gay can't keep his hands off of their vulnerable son?

"I do," Adam says, feeling no need to lie now. "But I would never act on them. You have to know that."

"I do, Adam. I do. That's not what I'm worried about."

"Then what's this about?"

Tommy's father sighs, leaning forward in the chair. "Tommy's mother and I have talked about this, about whether we should tell you what I'm about to tell you. It's not really our story to tell, it's Tommy's, but he can't do it right now. So, here I am. Making sure that you really care about my son and that you're willing to see this through."

"Sir, I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"We think you should know what you're up against. What you're dealing with. Tommy cannot get hurt again."

"I would never-"

"Not intentionally. I know that you would never hurt him intentionally."

Adam feels like a man wandering blind, no sense of direction, no idea where this is taking him. "Ok. What is it? What do you want to tell me."

Tommy's father takes a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words, for whatever revelation he is about to impart. "The man who took him, that monster, he . . ."

And suddenly it becomes clear, what Tommy's father is about to tell him. The implicit trust makes this a gift. The knowledge itself makes it a curse.

"He . . . he raped him."

The words are barely more than whispered, as if takes physical effort to say them. To say that one horrible word. Except that Adam's known all along. He's somehow known without ever being told.

"He kept him chained to a bed, Adam. He kept my son chained to a bed!" Whatever control Tommy's father has used up to now is quickly unraveling. His words are pure rage and agony.

Adam himself feels frozen, as if he's being held under ice. So hard to breathe, so hard to think. And it hurts. It's hurts more than he'd ever imagined that it could.

He glances out the window, catches a glimpse of one of Tommy's shy half-smiles before Tommy ducks his head.

He'd known, of course he'd known. But this kind of knowing is so much worse. This is the kind that you can't hide from, that you can't lie to yourself about or bury.

Tommy's father is crying now, but that's all right, because so is Adam. It seems that's all they do lately. Tears have become their fallback.

"I'm sorry, Adam. But you had to know. You have to understand what he's been through. If you care for him like I think you do."

"I'm glad you told me," Adam says, and his voice sounds wrong to his own ears, hoarse and raw. "I suspected, but now I know. And I'll be so careful. I'll be so careful with him, I promise."

One more glance out the window. One more glance at the beautiful, fragile figure of the man he's come to fall in love with.

"Adam . . ."

There's a hand on his knee. Adam turns toward it though he knows he can't handle much more. Can't this man see that he's about to shatter?

"He told Lisa that he has feelings for you too. I think maybe that's why he lets you touch him. Why you're the only one. That's why we're letting him stay. We trust you, Adam. We're trusting you with everything."


	7. Chapter 7

_"Are you sure about this, Adam?"_

 _Everybody keeps asking him this. Is he sure? Is he ready? He's already tired of the questions and Tommy hasn't even moved in._

 _"Mom, of course I'm sure. I wouldn't have ever suggested it if I wasn't sure."_

 _Leila gives a weak smile. "I know how you are, honey. You tend to jump into things without thinking them through. And you can't . . . you can't jump blindly into this. You'll be hurting Tommy so much worse if you're not ready."_

 _"But I am ready. All I want to do is take care of him, mom. Nothing else matters to me right now."_

 _She sighs and takes his hand in hers. "I know you love him, honey, but sometimes love just isn't enough. This is going to take work. Lots of work and lots of patience." Leila pauses "And did I mention work?"_

 _They both laugh softly, glad for the small touch of light into this darkest of conversations._

 _"You don't get it, mom. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not gonna get antsy or bored or frustrated. I'm in this for as long as he wants me there. I can't imagine doing anything else." He lowers his voice as if imparting a secret. "I'm going to fix him, mom. I'm going to make him better. Love is going to be enough. You'll see."_

 _Leila places her hand against his cheek. "Somehow I knew you that was going to be your answer."_

 

They don't talk about it; what happened to Tommy.

Adam has tried but Tommy refuses, shying away from the subject whenever it is broached. So Adam accepts the fact that if they ever do talk about it, it will be because Tommy brings it up. It will be on Tommy's terms.

Besides, there are other things to occupy their days, other ways that mark the passage of time.

There are Tommy's therapy sessions, the follow-up doctor's appointments, visits from well-meaning but oftentimes smothering family and friends. There are casual walks and quiet drives. Evenings watching movies and days spent with music.

Sometimes, Adam mourns the loss of what might have been. But then he remembers how close he came to losing everything and sadness turns to gratitude.

It isn't easy, coping. Moving forward. The nightmares are the worst of it; holding Tommy as he weeps and shudders against him in the darkness. There are stony silences. There are angry, bitter tears that seem to come from nowhere.

But then there are also moments like this one.

Resting on the couch, watching tv, Tommy's head pillowed on Adam's lap.

Adam runs his fingers through Tommy's hair, lightly scratching at the scalp in the way that he knows Tommy likes. The hair is cut evenly now, and it's slowly finding its way back to Tommy's natural soft brown color. It looks good on him, Adam finds.

"So, I was thinking . . ." Adam begins.

"Mm?"

"Maybe we should get out of here for a little while. Go on a vacation or something."

Tommy turns, looking up at Adam. "Really?"

"Yeah. I think it'd be nice. To get away."

"I don't know, Adam."

"It doesn't have to be just us," Adam says quickly. "Your parents can go too?"

"You know I can't afford something like that right now."

"Who said anything about you paying? I got it covered."

Tommy sits up, albeit it still with care, and pushes himself a distance away on the couch. "You've already done too much for me as it is. I can't accept that."

"It's no big deal, Tommy."

"It is. I'm not a charity case, Adam."

There's no anger in the way Tommy speaks, only what sounds like tired resignation.

"This isn't charity. This is me wanting to do something nice for someone I care about."

Tommy turns his head away. "I can't accept it."

Adam reaches forward, fingers under Tommy's chin, and turns Tommy to face him. "Think of it as payment. For all the times you put up with my demanding bullshit."

"Right, because you're such a diva." Tommy rolls his eyes, but he smiles too and that gives Adam hope.

"I am. I'm a pain in the ass and I owe you for putting up with me."

A shrug. Another smile. "Maybe. I'll think about it . . . I don't know."

Adam lets it go, because an 'I'll think about it' is better than a 'hell no'. But only a few seconds later, Tommy asks, "Where would we go?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Uh uh. No. You can't leave it up to me."

But it's important that Tommy have choices. It's important that he have some measure of control. The brief meeting with the therapist had told him that much.

Adam shrugs, hoping the gesture looks casual. "We can think about it. Start looking on the internet later, then maybe we can narrow it down."

Tommy drops his gaze, fiddling with the hem of his too-long shirt. "I liked Cabo," he says. Then he looks up, and Adam, as he so often is, is struck by the intensity of his love for this man. It pulls the breath from Adam's lungs until he feels nearly dizzy from the lack of it.

"Maybe somewhere warm like that?" Tommy asks, almost timidly, as if afraid to ask for what he wants.

"That sounds nice," Adam says. "Somewhere with cabanas and fruity drinks."

"And sand and blue water," Tommy adds, a little stronger now, voice a little brighter.

"And big, fluffy white towels."

"Pools with waterslides."

"Spas and -"

Adam doesn't finish the sentence. Instead he turns toward the front door, distracted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. It can't be reporters or fans. He has security and they let no one up to the door unless it's someone expected.

"Why don't you stay here? I'll be right back," he says as he stands.

Tommy doesn't stay. He follows Adam, watching warily as Adam opens the door.

Adam doesn't recognize the two people at his threshold but Tommy does. He steps backward, hugging his arms tight across his chest. "What's the matter?" Tommy asks. "Why are you here?"

Adam looks from him to the people at the door, a man and a woman. A man and a woman now both holding up their police shields.

"We'd like to talk to Tommy for a few minutes."


	8. Chapter 8

They sit, Adam and Tommy close together on the couch, the detectives in separate chairs.

“We have just have some questions for you, Tommy,” the female detective, Detective Stokes, says. “We’d like to go over some things. See if there’s anything else you remember that might be of help.” She glances over at Adam, a quick look that clearly communicates that he might not want to be here for this.

Adam clears his throat. “Maybe I should go.”

But Tommy places a hand on Adam’s leg, keeping him still with only that touch. “No. Stay. Please.”

And then it starts. They ask about the night Tommy was taken, about the room where he was held, about the man who took him. They ask for anything, any bit of information, that Tommy might remember that will help them.

And though his voice is soft and wavering, Tommy answers everything that is put to him. He remembers going back to his car, a painful sting at his neck. The room was concrete, small and windowless. The man was tall, heavy-set, brown hair and eyes. No tattoos, no scars.

He answers everything. And Adam has never been more proud of him.

Finally, when it becomes clear that Tommy has nothing new to offer and the detectives fall silent, Tommy asks, “Why are you asking me these things? Did something happen?”

The detectives share a look, silent communication, before turning to Tommy. The male detective, Detective Mueller, speaks. “A body was found in the woods this morning. We believe the person who killed him is the same person who took you.”

Tommy shrinks back, his hands coming up to clutch at his stomach. “No.”

“We’re sorry, Tommy,” Detective Mueller says.

“No. No.”

“Are you sure?” Adam asks. “Maybe it wasn’t-”

“We’re fairly sure. The MO’s the same, the things that he did. He’s obviously accelerating though, and perfecting. Refining.”

Tommy, who’d gone strangely silent, now sits forward. “How old was he?”

Detective Stokes understands the implications of the question. Her voice is gentle when she says, “Sixteen.”

Tommy nods, covering his face with his hand, and from his mouth comes a broken, strangled sound.

Detective Stokes comes over to him, kneeling in front of him, careful not to touch. “We’re doing everything we can to catch this guy, Tommy. I promise you, we’re doing everything we can. But we need your help. I know this is hard, but we can’t do this without you. So, if you think of anything else, anything at all, no matter how small or trivial you think it may seem, please call us. Ok?”

Tommy doesn't seem to hear. Not at first, But then he gives another nod, short and jerky and whispers, “Ok.”

The detectives soon take their leave. Adam closes the door behind them before turning to see that Tommy is standing up. His face is blank, inscrutable.

“Tommy?” Adam whispers. To speak any louder would feel profane.

With a howl of rage, Tommy sweeps his arm across the coffee table, knocking everything on it to the floor. He bends, picks up one of the items, a vase, and throws it against the wall, smashing it to pieces. Adam walks toward him, but Tommy’s already stalking away, making his way to the kitchen. Tommy screams “no”, over and over again, like a mantra, as he opens the cupboards, smashing everything he finds against the walls.

“Tommy, stop.”

Tommy whirls around, screams, “Fuck you!”

Adam moves forward, carefully, so unsure. He doesn’t care about the vase or the glasses. He cares about Tommy and right now, he’s beyond frightened for him. He wants to help him but he doesn’t know how. Does he sit and let this episode end on its own? Does he stop it? What is the right thing? What does Tommy need?

I know you love him, honey, but sometimes love just isn't enough. This is going to take work. Lots of work and lots of patience.

His mother’s words come back to haunt him as he walks up behind Tommy, wrapping his arms around him tightly. This is instinct and guess-work, what he’s doing. All he can do is hang on to Tommy and hope that he’s not wrong.

Tommy bucks against him, struggling to break Adam’s hold. “Let go! Let go of me!”

“Tommy, it’s ok. It’s ok,” he says, keeping his tone easy and soothing.

“Fuck you, Adam! Fuck! You!”

“It’s ok, Tommy. It’s going to be ok now. I’ve got you.”

Tommy’s struggles begin to weaken, his voice losing some its venom. “Stop. Let go.”

Adam doesn’t. Instead he loosens his hold and slowly but steadily brings them both down to the floor. He turns Tommy around, so that Tommy’s face is pressed against his chest.

“I hate you,” Tommy says, and the words are sobs now. He’s no longer fighting. Instead he’s clinging on to Adam as if holding on for dear life. “I hate you.”

Adam doesn’t let the words touch him. He begins to rock them back and forth, gentle and slow. Is this the right thing? He still doesn’t know. He can only pray that it is.

Seconds pass, stretching into minutes. Eventually, Tommy quiets, lying still and spent in Adam’s arms. Adam runs a hand through his hair and whispers, “Maybe I should call Dr. Walters.”

Tommy stirs, lifts up his face. His eyes are red and swollen, his voice thick with the tears recently shed. He looks wrecked and torn. And still so beautiful. Always so beautiful. “No. Not yet. Wait.”

“Are you sure, baby?”

Tommy nods. “I just need a drink, ok?” He looks around. “Can we get off the floor?”

So they sit, knees pressed together on the couch as Tommy lifts a beer bottle to his lips. His hands shake so badly that Adam has to reach forward, steadying the bottle so that Tommy can drink.

“Tommy . . .” Adam begins, although he’s not really sure what he means to say.

“It should have been me. I should be dead.”

Adam frowns, about to argue. He stops, protest on the tip of his tongue, when he sees Tommy. Really sees Tommy. Sees how he is staring forward, eyes unfocused, lost.

“That last day, I knew I was going to die,” Tommy says, and his voice is quiet anguish.

Adam goes very still. He does not speak, he does not move. He barely inhales. He recognizes that what comes next will be of great importance.

It’s time. Time for Tommy to tell his tale. Time for Adam to hear it.


	9. Chapter 9

Tommy grips the bottle tight in his hands, keeps his gaze resolutely forward.

So Adam does the same, staring forward, hands between his knees, stealing sidelong glances at Tommy when he feels that he can.

"He told me to be good. 'Be good, Tommy.' That's what he always said when he was about to do something I wouldn't like. It was a warning, not to fight him. But fighting only made things worse. I learned that early. So I just went with it, you know? He cuffed my hands behind my back and took me into the bathroom, into the tub and I just went with it, even though the water was fucking boiling and I could barely sit in it."

Tommy takes a deep breath, his fingers picking at the label on the beer bottle. Adam focuses on this small thing, letting it center him against the rising feeling of nausea.

"He washed me really carefully. Everywhere. Like just scrubbed."

Another deep breath as a small bit of the label flutters to the ground.

"Then he used the bleach."

Adam isn't even aware that he's uttered a small, horrified gasp or that he's startling back against the couch. But Tommy notices. Tommy hears it. He looks over to Adam, only for a brief moment before turning away.

"Not everywhere," Tommy says. "Not everywhere. Just my hands. And between . . . my legs. Not inside. Just . . . you know. And that's when I knew."

And then Tommy's voice rises, and Adam can hear the pain in it; dark and blossoming. "Because why fucking do that? Why do that?"

Adam's throat feels dry, too dry to speak, but he forces out syllables anyway. "Tommy . . ."

"I mean, I didn't for one second think that he was going to just clean me up and leave me somewhere, alive and kicking. I knew. I knew and I still didn't fight."

Tommy bows his head, takes a few seconds to just breathe, in and out, as if he's steadying himself. As Adam watches, more of the label falls to the floor.

"He pulled me out when he was done, still wet, and he put me into this . . . this body bag. And I didn't fight him, but I begged, which was stupid. Like he was gonna fucking listen to me. Like he even fucking cared."

Adam's hands clench into fists as he listens, that and his harsh breathing the only indication of what he's feeling inside. The only indication of the turmoil, torn between a blazing rage and an aching sadness. He's almost tempted to ask Tommy to stop. To to tell him that he can't possibly hear this, that it's too painful. But then he thinks, what right does he have to ask that? Tommy lived this. If Tommy could live it, the least he can do is listen.

"So he closed it," Tommy says, oblivious to Adam's internal struggle. "And he put me into the trunk of a car and we drove for a really long time. And when he finally pulled me out and opened the bag and I saw . . . " Tommy's voice catches and stalls and for a moment, Adam is sure that he won't be able to go on. But somehow Tommy finds that strength, the one that has carried him throughout this entire ordeal, and he begins again.

"I saw where we were. The woods. And then I saw the knife. And I just . . ." Tommy grips the beer bottle so tightly that Adam is afraid it will shatter in his hands. "I didn't want to die, Adam. All that time I was with him, there were times when I wanted to die. I just wanted it to be done, finally, you know? And here I was, and it was time, and I didn't want to go. I didn't want to go."

Tommy turns to Adam then, a pleading look on his face as if he's searching for understanding. Adam reaches out a hand, intending to comfort, but drops it when he sees Tommy flinch.

"That's why you kept going. After he left," Adam says, really understanding it now. He's always known the story. Everyone knows it. It's one of the reasons that his album is flying off the shelves. Tragedy sells. Tragedy mixed with courage and luck sells even better. Everyone knows that Tommy lay still after being stabbed four times, that he played dead. They know that he waited until the man had driven off before he brought his knees up to his chest and maneuvered until he got his arms in front of his body. That he began to crawl forward, inch by agonizing inch through those wood. They know about the hikers that had gone off-trail, that had heard Tommy's screams and had gone searching until they found him.

"Why am I alive, Adam?" Tommy asks suddenly. There's an undercurrent of anguish in his voice, an undercurrent that keeps rising with every word. "I should be dead, just like that kid. Why am I alive when a sixteen-year-old kid is dead?"

"Tommy, you fought for your life, you -"

"No! I didn't. I was lucky." Tommy leans forward, rocking back and forth, the beer bottle still held in that death grip. "I was lucky and he learned from me." He turns his head, looking at Adam, the anguish in his voice now almost unbearable. "He killed that kid because I was lucky."

Adam knows that's not exactly right. Tommy's oversimplifying through his grief and pain. But before he can say anything, before he can even think of what to say, Tommy flings the beer bottle across the room where it neatly shatters against the wall.

"Fuck! This hurts, Adam. This fucking hurts," Tommy says, hands in his hair, body curled in, rocking faster and faster. "I don't know how to deal with this. I don't understand why I'm not dead. I should be dead. I should be dead."

This time, Adam does not hesitate. He reaches forward, wraps an around Tommy's shoulder and brings him in close. They rock together now, Tommy's voice harsh and raw against Adam's shoulder.

"I should be dead. I should be dead."

"No, honey. No."

"This hurts so fucking much, Adam. I don't understand. I can't do this. I don't understand . . ." Tommy's voice trails off into sobs, interspersed by that broken litany.

 _I should be dead_

 _I should be dead_

 _I should be dead_

Adam tightens his grip, just a little, just enough. He wishes that he hadn't heard any of this. God, how he wishes that he didn't know. "I'm going to call the doctor," he finally whispers, feeling helpless and hopeless and lost. He's not going to take no for an answer this time. He knows that this is beyond him, that maybe all of it is and that everyone was right.

To his surprise, Tommy does not protest. He nods instead and says, "Ok. Whatever. Yeah." But he doesn't pull away. Neither of them does. Tommy only clutches him more desperately, and Adam . . . Adam can't bear to let go.


	10. Chapter 10

_I never said it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it_

Adam can’t remember where the quote is from; where he saw it or where he heard it, and yet it’s become his unofficial motto. His very own slogan he can repeat to himself when things start to feel like too much.

 

~~~~  
They don't go on vacation. Tommy refuses to.

 _How am I supposed to go when Eric is dead? How am I supposed to even think about enjoying myself when he can't?_

Eric - the boy's name. The one who was murdered.

Dr. Walters tell Adam that it's a form of survivor's guilt. That Tommy is grappling with the monumental question of why he is alive when another is not.

She tells Adam to be patient and to give him time. The medication will help and the therapy is helping. That sometimes progress is difficult to see and that sometimes two steps must be taken backward before one can be taken forward. She tells him to listen when Tommy wants to talk and to respect his privacy when he doesn't.

And Adam does all this, he does it gladly, but sometimes he wonders if he's getting it wrong. Sometimes he feels as if he's failing and what he's really doing is standing by watching as Tommy spirals out of control.

Like earlier tonight when he watched Tommy leave to go out with his friends. Adam knows that Tommy is not ready for the bar scene, he just knows. But Tommy had insisted, had gotten angry when Adam had suggested he stay home, so Adam had backed off.

And now, he waits. It's almost one in the morning and Adam sits on the couch in the living room, a book on the effects of emotional and sexual trauma spread open on his lap, trying valiantly to digest the information that it provides.

But really what he does is wait.

It’s a little after two when the door opens and Tommy stumbles in. He's obviously drunk, swaying dangerously as he walks into the house.

One of Tommy’s friends is standing at the doorway, anxiety plain on his features.

Adam puts the book aside and walks toward the door. “Everything ok?”

“He got really drunk, really fast,” the friend whispers, hiding the words from Tommy. “Then he started to freak out a little. I guess there were too many people there or something. We thought it’d be best if we just brought him home.”

Adam doesn’t bother saying I told you so. He thanks Tommy’s friend and closes the door.

“Hey.”

Tommy’s standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around his waist, eyes closed. He doesn’t answer and Adam wonders if he even heard.

He walks over to stand in front of Tommy, placing his hands on Tommy’s shoulders. “Hey, you ok? How’d it go?”

And Tommy still doesn’t answer. Instead he launches himself at Adam, their bodies colliding. Adam holds him tight, running a hand through Tommy’s hair.

"I'm gonna get you some water and Advil and then you're going to bed, huh?"

"Yeah?” Tommy looks up and in his eyes is a challenge. “Well, what if I don't want to go to bed?"

"Tommy, you're going to feel so shitty tomorrow if you don't."

"Don’t want to, though. Want to stay up. With you."

There’s something about the way that Tommy’s talking, petulant almost, and the way that he’s moving, languid and purposeful, that makes Adam’s alarm bells go off.

“Tommy?”

"Do you think I'm pretty, Adam?"

Oh no

Adam tries to pull away, but Tommy moves with him. He reeks of alcohol and his eyes are red and unfocused and still he is, yes, so very, very pretty.

"Yeah, Tommy. I do."

"Yeah? Pretty enough to fuck?"

 _Oh shit. Oh shit_

Adam can’t even come up with an answer to that one, just stands there muttering unconnected syllables for his reply.

Tommy moves against him, hands coming up to Adam’s chest. It’s sensual now, though the alcohol makes him clumsy, and Adam’s reminded of an insistent cat.

"Do you want to fuck me, Adam?" Tommy asks, voice breathy and dangerous.

Adam grabs Tommy’s hands, holds them still. "Tommy, let's just go to bed, ok?"

"I know you want to. I see the way you look at me sometimes. It's ok, I want you to. I want you to fuck me."

Adam takes a moment to silently curse at fate, at happenstance, and everything in between. In another time, in another place, this would have been everything he ever wanted. In other time, in another place, this would have been perfect.

Now, it just breaks his heart.

He pushes Tommy away, gentle but firm. “No, honey. That’s not going to happen tonight, ok?”

Tommy's entire body stiffens. “Why?”

“Tommy . . .”

Tommy’s face twists in into a snarl. "Why? You're a fucking fag, you should want this!” He slams his hands against Adam’s chest, the surprise of it knocking Adam off-balance. “Come on, you should want this! You know you fucking want to!"

Adam can feel the pounding of his heart echoing throughout his entire body. He’s not angry, far from it. He’s terrified; terrified because this is new and he can’t even begin to imagine where this is coming from. He takes a deep breath and speaks firmly, glad when his voice doesn’t tremble.

"Tommy, stop."

"Oh, I get it,” Tommy says, stepping far enough away to be out of reach. He’s no longer shouting but his voice is still too high, ugly and twisted with anger and bitterness. “It's because of him, isn’t it? Cause he got here first? Suddenly I’m not good enough for you cause he had me first?”

“You know that’s not it, Tommy. Please.”

But Tommy gives no indication of having heard Adam. He rips at his shirt, at his exposed skin, tearing at both. “Fuck you! I’m not good enough for you? Because I’m not a sweet, little virgin fuck anymore?”

Adam takes a step forward, arm outstretched. He can see his own hand shaking. “Tommy . . .”

“Cause I’m fucking dirty now?”

Another step forward, closer now. “Tommy.”

“Dirty and used and ugly. I’m so fucking . . . “

Another step and he’s there. He wraps his arms around Tommy and takes them both to the floor, cushioning Tommy’s body against the floor with his own.

“Let go! You don’t want me. You said you don’t want me.”

Adam brings their bodies together, cocooning them almost as one. He’s prepared to hold on tight, to ride out this storm, but Tommy’s movements are already becoming weak, lethargic. Adam can hear the beginning of tears in his voice, the signal that the anger has reached its peak and will soon dissolve, leaving Tommy exhausted, drained and at his most vulnerable.

“It’s ok, Tommy. It’s ok. I’ve got you.”

“You don’t want me. Not good for you. Not good for anybody.”

Tommy’s words are so slurred as to be almost unintelligible. Adam’s tempted to disagree, to try and talk to him, but to engage in active conversation right now would be fruitless. Tonight, he’ll provide comfort, something he feels he’s getting good at, but tomorrow . . . tomorrow they’re going to have to talk.

“You’re not any of those things, baby. You’re strong and beautiful and I love you. I love you so much.”

“I’m not. I’m not, I’m not. I’m not.”

It’s almost over now. The alcohol is pulling Tommy under, ending the episode quickly. Adam hates himself a little when he realizes that he’s grateful for it.

He waits until Tommy passes out, growing completely limp in his arms. Then he lifts him, carrying Tommy in his arms to their shared bed.

He stays awake for a long time, watching over Tommy, protecting him too little, too late.

 _I didn’t say it would be easy, I only said it would be worth it_

But really, Adam thinks, it already is worth it. It always has been.


	11. Chapter 11

The first time that Tommy wakes up, it is only to use the bathroom and down some Advil before turning into himself, groaning until he falls asleep again.

The second time that Tommy wakes up, hours later, he showers and downs more Advil before wandering back to the bed.

Adam is waiting for him there, a cup of hot coffee in hand. He hands it to Tommy, who takes it with a quiet ‘thank you’ and brings it to his lips, eyes carefully avoiding Adam’s.

They’re sitting cross-legged on top of the sheets, facing each other. Adam looks at Tommy and wonders how a gap of two feet can feel like one of a hundred miles. He takes a deep breath before plunging in, hesitant but determined. “Tommy, we need to talk about last night.”

Tommy still can’t meet Adam’s eyes, choosing to stare down into his coffee instead. “I know I was an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“You remember?” Adam asks, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. With as drunk as Tommy had been last night, he just hadn’t been sure.

“Yeah, but I can’t . . . can we not talk about it, please? I won’t do that again, I swear.”

Adam nods slowly, thinking this through. He doesn’t want to force Tommy into anything he’s not ready for. And yet . . . and yet there are things that have to be said.

“Ok, you don’t have to talk. I will. I just need you to listen.”

Tommy flicks his gaze up to Adam at last. He looks apprehensive, almost frightened and Adam hates himself a little for being the one to put that look into his eyes.

“Ok,” Tommy says, hands clutching the coffee cup far too tightly.

Adam takes another deep breath and tries to remember the words he’d practiced all last night. “I feel like I haven’t been completely honest with you and maybe I need to be,” he begins.

Tommy just stares at him, eyes wide and wary.

“Ok, the truth is, I have feelings for you, Tommy. I have for a while now. I’m, uh . . . I’m kindof in love with you.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, whisper soft.

And now that Adam’s started, the words are easier to find, all but spilling from him. “See, I thought it was a good idea to bring you here. I was so sure that I’d be able to keep you safe. And when I saw that you wouldn’t let anyone else touch you, I figured that, I don’t know, that it could only be me.”

Adam watches Tommy, trying to gauge his reaction to this, but his face reveals nothing.

“And ok,” he continues, “I said I was going to be honest. Part of the reason was me just being selfish. I just wanted you with me, Tommy.”

“Adam . . .”

“I would never, ever try anything,” Adam says, cutting through anything Tommy might have to say. He’s on a roll now and he can’t seem to stop. “You have to know that. I would never try anything or push myself on you or even expect you to reciprocate. But anyway, you’ve obviously picked up on what I feel for you and if it provoked the reaction last night then maybe it’s not such a good idea that you stay here.”

“You want me to go?”

“No,” Adam says, hearing the anguish in his own voice. This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do and it hurts; all of this hurts more than he’d expected. “I don’t want you to go. I just don’t think you should stay if it’s hurting you to. I want what’s best for you, Tommy. Always.”

Tommy looks down into his coffee cup, still half full, before reaching over and setting it on the nightstand. He then grabs hold of Adam’s hand, interlacing their fingers together. “Before all this happened,” he says, voice wavering slightly, “before he took me, I went to my sister for advice about you.” He pauses. “I told her that I thought I was falling for you.”

“Oh,” Adam says. He knows this, of course, but he’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to know this, so he gives Tommy’s hand a light squeeze and listens.

“I was so confused. I mean, I’d never been interested in guys that way before and then suddenly, there you were and you were so amazing and sweet and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t stop wondering. “

Adam can feel his cheeks coloring. He’d known this too, but it’s different, hearing it from Tommy. “So what did your sister tell you?”

Tommy manages a sad smile. “She told me to follow my heart.” A moment later the smile drops away. “But then he took me and it’s . . .everything is so fucked up now, Adam. Everything about my life is so fucked up. It’s like everything about me’s been put on hold and I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Tommy sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I just, I don’t want to leave. You’re about the only thing keeping me together, Adam. And none of what happened last night was you. I wanted to go out because I wanted to prove to myself that I could be normal. That’s all I wanted, but then I got to the bar it got shoved in my face how fucking far from normal I am. When I got home, I guess I was in bad place and you were there and . . . and I don’t even know why I said those things, I just did. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Tommy. I don’t care. I don’t care about any of that stuff.”

Tommy leans forward and Adam reads the need in the gesture. He moves, adjusting his position so he can bring Tommy into his arms. The relief that courses through him is almost overwhelming and he has to fight to keep himself from collapsing. He had to offer, he had to give Tommy the choice to leave, but it would have killed him to watch Tommy walk out the door.

“I don’t wanna leave,” Tommy says, turning into Adam’s shoulder, “but I don’t know where I am now. I still have feelings for you, but I don’t know if I can ever . . . I don’t know if I’d ever be able to give you something normal.”

“Ok, first of all, normal is completely boring and over-rated. And second, I don’t care about that. I don’t care if we never get to that. I care about getting you better. That’s all that matters.”

Tommy tilts his head, looking up at Adam. His eyes shine with unshed tears under those impossibly long lashes of his. “What if I never do? What if I never get better?”

“You will,” Adam says, confident and sure. He hides any uncertainty that he feels from Tommy; that he’ll deal with on his own. Today has been good, this has been good and he feels a lightness that he didn’t think was possible. He places a quick, chaste kiss atop Tommy’s forehead.

“You will, sweetheart.”


	12. Chapter 12

Everyone reacts to trauma in different ways.

There is no way to predict what one person will do or what they will feel when confronted with the kind of hurt that scars. Adam knows this.

So when the call comes through for Tommy, the one from Detective Stokes, Adam freezes in place and holds his breath. He listens as Tommy listens, listens as Tommy asks his few questions.

Then he watches as Tommy hangs up the phone and turns toward him.

Everything moves so slowly then, as if the entire world has been taken down to half-speed.

“Tommy?” Adam asks, timid and afraid and he’s still not breathing. He can’t. He can’t inhale, he can’t exhale and that one, tiny word almost sticks in his throat.

“They found someone else,” Tommy whispers. “He killed someone else.”

“Tommy . . .”

It is instinct to go to him, to reach for him, to try and soothe this new hurt; this new, overwhelming hurt.

But Tommy pulls away, hand in the air like a barrier. “No. I can’t do this right now. I need to be alone. Please.”

Then Tommy locks himself into the guest bedroom, the one that’s sat empty all this time, and Adam is left to wait.

Tommy refuses to talk about it when he comes out of the room nearly two hours later. He opens up a beer from the fridge instead, hands another to Adam and says, “I need to get drunk, ok?”

Adam hesitates, holding the bottle mid-way between their two bodies. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“It’s what I need right now. You can understand that, right?” His voice sounds so desperate and frayed that Adam can’t even begin to argue.

“Promise me we’ll talk later?” Adam asks. “Promise me you’re not going to try and deal with this on your own?”

Tommy stares down at the bottle in his hand. “I promise.”

“Ok, then. Let’s get drunk.”

 

The next morning, everything changes. Sometimes Adam compares it to a butterfly dragging itself out of a cocoon, so profound is the metamorphosis.

It starts when Tommy goes to the police station to have another meeting with their sketch artist. Then he schedules meetings with the detectives to go over every minute detail of his imprisonment. He meets with the FBI when they are brought in to the case. He goes to see a hypnotherapist to see if they can pull any other details from him. He even agrees to go on TV, pleading for help in finding the man who had brutalized him.

He’s like a man possessed, and Adam doesn’t know if it’s a good thing, but it feels like it is. It feels like Tommy’s channeling his pain into something positive, but Adam worries all the same. Because what if they never find this man? What if he keeps on killing, over and over, months turning into years? What will it do to Tommy when the leads never materialize and all hope dissolves?

And yet as much as he worries, he can also feel an immense sense of pride. That feeling becomes almost overwhelming when Tommy asks for meetings with the parents of the two murdered boys so he can offer them his support.

It hits him often, blindsides him really, just how strong Tommy truly is. And just how much he loves him.

When it all begins to come together, it’s almost a magical thing. Like watching puzzle pieces drawing together and locking into place to reveal the picture that was there all along.

A man who’d been out of town for his daughter’s wedding comes back and sees Tommy’s plea on TV, sees the new sketch and calls in to the police to say he thinks he recognizes the man. He explains that that the sketch looks a little like the night watchman that he had to fire almost six months ago.

Fired. From the nightshift of a funeral home.

The connection to the body bags is made instantly and everyone is mobilized into action as the best lead they have is followed.

And eventually, it leads to this. To Tommy standing by the kitchen counter, phone in his hand, listening to the voice on the other end.

When he finally places it back in its cradle, Adam asks, “Tommy? Who was it?”

Tommy fixes him with a gaze that is disbelieving and shell-shocked. “They got him. They arrested him.”

And then he drops to his knees and covers his face with his hands.

Adam hurries to him and kneels down in front of him. “Tommy?”

Everyone reacts to trauma in different ways.

There is no way to predict what one person will do or what they will feel when confronted with the kind of hurt that scars. Or the kind of news that is so monumental that it can never be described.

Adam holds his breath as Tommy lifts his head to look at him. Tommy’s crying, but that’s ok; crying isn’t always a bad thing. Besides, Adam’s crying too; sobbing like a baby, actually.

Tommy reaches for him and pulls him in close with an almost savage strength. “They caught him,” he gasps. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

And Adam lets himself be crushed in Tommy’s hold and murmurs, “I know, honey. I know,” even though the news hasn’t quite settled inside his brain as the truth.

And for a long time after that, there are no words. There are none that would suffice anyway, none that even come close.

Eventually, Adam will take the phone and make calls to the people who need to know. Tommy’s family. His own. He will make the calls while Tommy lies curled up on the couch, too overwhelmed to move, much less speak.

Then Adam will carry Tommy to bed, undress him carefully and hold him through the endless hours until sunlight.

But all that will come later. Now it’s just Adam and Tommy, arms wrapped around the other, weeping for what was lost and what now may be regained.


	13. Chapter 13

Today is the big day, Adam thinks as he looks around his living room. Then he thinks about what an understatement that is and he almost laughs.

He manages, at the last moment, to keep it inside, knowing that hysterical laughter wouldn’t go over very well. Not today. Not with Tommy’s sister and father sitting on the couch right across from him and Tommy and his mother in the bedroom. Tommy had needed help tying his tie and his mother had needed a moment alone with her son. Everyone has their parts to play on this day, the day that Tommy’s going to testify against Joseph Huston, otherwise known as the sick fuck who’d ruined so many lives.

It’s been a long road to arrive at this point. Even with the prosecutors pushing, the trial didn’t start for nearly five months. During that time, Tommy’s nightmares had worsened, his moods growing more and more dark and unpredictable as his drinking had increased. Adam remembers clearly that first day of trial. How Tommy had suffered a panic attack during the middle of opening statements, how they’d had to lead him out of the courtroom, barely able to stand, his face twisted with pain and misery.

A photographer who happened to be in the right place at the right time caught a picture of it, immortalizing Tommy instantly. The jurors won’t see it until the end of the trial, but the rest of the country has and in the court of public opinion, Joseph Huston has already been found guilty.

Public support doesn’t help Tommy, however. He appreciates it, but it does nothing to stem both day and night terrors.

He hasn’t been back to the courtroom since that day, relying instead on others to go and fill him in on how things are progressing. Sometimes, Adam goes. Other times it’s Tommy’s family that goes. Sometimes it’s friends, both old and new who volunteer.

And now, finally, it’s Tommy’s turn. And as much as Adam wishes that he could protect him from this, he knows that he cannot.

After a few minutes, Tommy’s mother steps back into the living room. She looks to Adam and says, “He’s asking for you.”

Adam nods and stands, giving her a watery smile and adjusting his suit before going into the bedroom.

Inside, he finds Tommy sitting on the edge of their bed, head bowed. He’s dressed much like Adam is, in a suit and tie. He reminds Adam of an actor playing a role; the suit is impeccable and Tommy looks so handsome . . . but it is not him.

“Hey. I heard you wanted to see me.”

Tommy looks up and gives a jerky nod. He looks absolutely wrecked, as if the wrong word will cause him to crumble.

Adam takes hold of Tommy’s hand and pulls him up so they are facing each other. “What’s going on, honey?” he asks, though he’s pretty sure that he knows.

“I don’t think I can do this, Adam. I really don’t think I can do this.”

Adam soothes both with his hands and his voice. “Hey. It’s ok. Come on. You’ve practiced this a hundred times with the prosecutors, right? You’ve got it down pat. You’re going to be fine.”

“It’s not that,” Tommy pulls away, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He shivers as if it’s cold. “It’s . . . seeing him again. Looking into his face. I don’t think I can do it.”

“I know you’re scared. Of course you’re scared. But I also know that you can do this. Hey, ok, look at me,” he says when Tommy drops his gaze to the floor. Tommy looks up and in his eyes lives a savage anguish that borders on despair. Adam swallows past the lump in his throat, stiffens against the urge to let that anguish take over them both. “You’re the strongest person I know. I don’t have a doubt that you can do this.”

“I’m not strong, Adam. I’m going to lose it like last time, I know it.”

“Tommy, you can do this. If no other reason than it has to be you. Troy and Eric aren’t here to speak for themselves, so you have to speak for them. You have to show the jurors that there are people behind all those facts that they listen to all day. You have to show them what this asshole’s done.”

Tommy drops his head to Adam’s shoulder, his body shaking as if buffeted by harsh winds. “You’re right,” he says. “You’re right. I know I have to do this. You’re right.”

Adam wraps his arms around Tommy and holds on tight, gathering strength from Tommy even as he hopes he can give Tommy his.

After a few moments they hear a tentative knock at the door. It’s Tommy’s father. “Tommy? Adam? The cars are here. We have to go.”

They pull away from each and Adam tries for a smile. “Besides, remember what comes after this, right? Eyes on the prize.”

“You mean Tahiti?”

It had been Tommy’s pick, Tommy’s choice for their get-away.

“That, and the fact that this asshole’s going to prison for the rest of his life. And then we can begin ours.” He pauses, hesitating. “Well, as long as you’ll let me be here, of course. No pressure. Aw shit, I probably shouldn't have said that.”

Tommy manages what can almost be considered a smile. “I want you there, you idiot. I want you there.”

“Good." Adam breathes a sigh of relief. "Ok, let's go do this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy testifies, and as Adam had predicted, he does an amazing job. He speaks slowly and precisely with a degree of confidence tempered by fragile vulnerability. The jury believes him, Adam knows. He can tell, he can read it in their faces. By the end of it, even after the cross-examination by Huston’s lawyer, there isn’t a dry eye in the courtroom. After nearly two weeks of facts and figures for evidence, the jurors are finally shown the human face of suffering. They are shown what Joseph Huston has done.

Right after being dismissed from the stand, Tommy goes to the bathroom and vomits up everything in his stomach. Adam sits beside him on the tile floor and strokes his back. When it’s over he pulls him up and takes him home.

The trial wraps up three days later. Closing arguments are given and the jurors go into seclusion to deliberate.

They come out two days later, verdict in hand.

Tommy sits very still, between his mother and Adam, as the jury foreman begins to speak. He clutches both of their hands, hard enough to make them both wince.

When the verdict read is ‘guilty’, Tommy turns first toward his mother, hugging her tightly before reaching over to his father to do the same. Then he turns and buries his face against Adam’s shoulder and begins to weep.

“You did it, honey. You did it,” Adam whispers into his hair. He’s a bit of a weeping mess himself and he briefly wonders if he’s ever cried this much in his life.

“Take me home? Please? Take me home?” Tommy asks.

“Anything you want, baby. Anything.”


	14. Chapter 14

Two days before they leave for Tahiti, Tommy goes to hang out with some of his friends. When he comes back he stands just inside the doorway and tells Adam to close his eyes.

Adam smiles and does, placing his hands over his face to show that he isn’t peeking.

“Can I open them now?” he asks after a few seconds.

“Not yet.”

“Now?”

“No.”

“How about now?”

“Fine. Now.”

Adam opens his eyes to see that Tommy is standing in front of him and that his hair has been drastically changed. It’s been cut into a style where his bangs sweep across his forehead and over one eye. And it is blond. Very, very blond.

“What do you think?” Tommy asks. “Do you like it?” He scrunches up his face. “Do you hate it? You hate it, don’t you?”

“I love it,” Adam says, and he means it. Tommy looks beautiful, but then again he always looks beautiful.

“Really?”

Tommy doesn’t smile anymore, not really. Sometimes he’ll try, but it’s always hesitant and unsure, as if he’s forgotten how.

He’s doing it now, giving a smile that’s really only half-way to being one.

Adam pulls him in for a hug, running his fingers through Tommy’s hair. “I love it,” he says. “You look amazing.” Then he pulls away, hands light on Tommy’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me you were doing it, though?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

It’s more than just changing a hairstyle, Adam knows. With his hair like this, Tommy almost looks like the old Tommy, the one who used to stand out in a crowd, the one who got taken and hurt. This is more than just changing a hairstyle, this is a statement, a really fucking huge one.

Adam laughs and hugs Tommy close to him, overwhelmed by how positive of a step this is and what it means. He refrains from actually saying this though, he knows that if he makes too much out of it, Tommy will only get embarrassed and retreat into himself.

“So, you ready for Tahiti now?” he asks instead, deciding to keep it light. “Now that you got your hair did?”

“So ready,” Tommy says. He moves close to Adam again, fitting their bodies together. “So ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Even in paradise, there are good days and there are bad days. There are still moments of paralyzing sadness and angry bouts of survivor’s guilt. But there is also a tranquility, a deep, abiding peace that tells Adam that they made the right decision to come here. After this, they will return to their real lives. Adam will begin work on his new album while Tommy . . . well, Tommy’s not exactly sure what he’s going to do. He’s considering getting back to music, maybe starting with session work but he’s also considering working with other victims, helping them as others have helped him.

But now . . . now there is only paradise.

They stay on the island of Moorea and not Tahiti itself; it’s less noisy, less crowded, and a lot more private.

One particularly dark day is spent inside with Tommy curled up in bed, refusing to talk or eat or even move.

One particularly wonderful day is spent sunning and napping and swimming. At night, they eat dinner in their bungalow and then sit out on their deck on matching lounge chairs. Tommy reaches his hand out for Adam’s and they clasp them together, watching the moon as it rises in the sky.

“I’m starting to feel like I never want to leave this place,” Tommy says.

“I know. So much better than the real world, huh?”

“The real world sucks.”

“We can come back,” Adam says. “We can come back every year if you want.”

Tommy sits up. In the shine of the moonlight, Adam can see him staring down at where their fingers intertwine. “You would do that for me, wouldn’t you?” Tommy asks, suddenly somber.

“I would pretty much do anything for you, Tommy.”

“You’re so good to me. You’ve been so good to me.” Tommy lifts his head, searching out Adam’s eyes. “So good for me.”

Adam sits up as well. He can sense that something is coming, can tell by Tommy’s change of mood. “Tommy?”

“The doctor said that I should take any relationship really slowly; that a lot of victims get highly sexualized and basically sleep with everybody. She said that it gives a feeling of control and that it’s a way of coping but that it’s not a healthy one.”

Adam nods. He knows this; he’s read it in every book on dealing with sexual trauma. He also wonders where this is going but he does not dare interrupt. He rubs his thumb along the back of Tommy’s hand to show that he’s listening.

“So when someone like me starts a relationship, it’s gotta be with someone really special. Someone who’ll not only take it slow, but who’ll insist on it, even when I’m pushing because sometimes pushing is really just me being self-destructive.”

Adam doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. He thinks he knows where this is going now, but he’s scared to make the assumption. Scared to hope.

“And, well,” Tommy says, “you’re pretty special.”

“Me? Tommy, are you saying what I think you’re saying? I mean, do you want to be with me?”

“We’re practically dating already. Except without any of the good stuff.”

“There’s been good stuff, honey. There’s been plenty of good stuff.”

“Well . . . I want there to be more of it. I think there could be. If you’re willing to, you know, stick it out with me.”

Right now his heart is doing sommersaults in his chest and, sure some it is nervousness, but most of it is this kind of crazy, quiet joy. “Are you sure about this?” Adam asks because he has to know. He has to be sure that Tommy’s sure. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I’m ok with what we have. I’m more than ok with what we have.”

“Oh God,” Tommy says, drawing back. “Do you not want to? I mean, here I am just assuming that –”

“Whoa, hey,” Adam says, taking Tommy’s other hand in his own. Their knees touch as Adam leans in. “You’re talking to the guy who’s completely in love with you, remember? If you think you’re ready, then so am I.”

Tommy gives a quick, stiff nod. “I’m ready. I’m ready to try, at least.”

Adam smiles. “Ok, then. Ok.”

“It’ll have to be slow, though. Like . . . I don’t know, molasses or some shit.”

“I love molasses. And snails. And anything else that’s slow.”

Tommy gives him that shaky half-smile. “You are a dork. An amazing dork . . . but a dork.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

They chuckle at that, both feeling a little self-conscious, a little awkward.

After a moment, Adam reaches out, his hand caressing Tommy’s cheek.

When Tommy turns his face toward Adam’s palm, lips touching it lightly, it sends a thrill racing through Adam’s body. He shivers and draws Tommy in closer.

“I love you,” Adam whispers.

“I know. I . . . “ Tommy hesitates, losing the words as he shakes his head.

“It’s ok. You don’t have to. Just . . . I love you.”

Tommy nods, teeth worrying his lip before leaning in. Adam meets him somewhere half-way, touching his lips to Tommy’s, opening up for him when Tommy responds, pulling away when Tommy retreats.

As their first real kiss, it’s pretty tame, tamer than their televised kiss. But it is perfect in a hundred different ways; everything that he could have hoped for, more than he could have wished for.

“You ok?” he asks. “Was that ok?”

“Yes,” Tommy says. Then he smiles. A real smile that lights up his face for the few, brief seconds that it graces it. “Yeah. It really was.”

And that smile, Adam decides, is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Ready for bed?” he asks.

Tommy nods and stands. They both do, still holding hands as they walk inside.


End file.
